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It’s good to be home. Phoenix knows that Trucy and Edgeworth share the sentiment, especially after an exhaustively long plane ride back to the states.
The three of them return to the agency sans Athena, having already dropped her off at her own apartment. Phoenix watches Edgeworth’s eyes scan the office’s furnishings in his usual mild disapproval. He can almost see the comment on his lips. You’ve been making enough money lately, Wright. Why not give your daughter a proper place to live?
But even with Edgeworth’s unabashed divergence from sugarcoating, vocalizing the observation would be in poor taste.
Little does he know, Phoenix has plans. Plural! With Trucy's career rapidly accelerating her toward a path that includes travel, it's becoming more likely that Phoenix'll have an empty nest sooner or later.
Maybe. Hence, the plans.
“G’night Daddy, Uncle Miles,” Trucy sings. It’s sleepy and punctuated by a yawn. It looks like, despite dozing on Edgeworth’s shoulder throughout the duration of the flight, she still needs to catch up on some Z’s.
This leaves Phoenix alone with Edgeworth. His old friend looks fondly at a picture of Trucy and Phoenix from years ago, a smile tugging at his lips. That smile—it’s refreshing to see so often, appearing without forethought or struggle as it used to in the past. Maybe it’s just Phoenix’s rose-tinted goggles clouding his judgment, but he’d say it’s easily in the Top Three Best Smiles he’s ever seen. His daughter takes first place, of course, and Maya’s grins of reassurance have saved his ass more than once during a trial.
He stares unabashedly at Edgeworth. His back is to Phoenix, but at the angle he stands, he can still see the curve of his lips.
… While the smile has become more frequent, something occurs to him: Edgeworth has quite the aversion to laughter.
There have been scoffs of amusement, even a triumphant snicker here and there, but Phoenix honestly can’t recall ever witnessing full out, eyes watering, gut wrenching laughter. It’s hard to conjure up the image, because, hell, imagining Edgeworth in such a state is so vastly out of character that it’s actually depressing.
The sudden resolve to make it happen is accompanied by a boost of confidence. He sags a bit, however, when he realizes just how unfunny Edgeworth finds him. His humor is a little lacking, sure—and of the dad variety, if you ask Trucy and Apollo—but they have enough inside jokes for him to scrounge up some material, right?
Right.
He grimaces. A joke out of the blue won’t do much good, especially while they’re both overtired and worn out.
(Wait.)
An idea strikes him. An idea that might just very well get him killed, but he figures that he’ll be dying for a good cause. Phoenix Wright, attorney, murdered at age 35 by an enraged chief prosecutor.
Approaching Edgeworth from behind, he clamps his hands below the man’s rib cage. Edgeworth gasps in surprise, both from being caught off guard and the feeling itself, and immediately begins to sputter. “Wright, what are you—”
Phoenix squeezes, wriggling his fingers along Edgeworth’s sides. He took a pretty big gamble; if Edgeworth wasn’t ticklish, this could’ve gotten really awkward, really fast. But it seems like Lady Luck is finally smiling down on him tonight (and it’s about damn time, after the trial they just endured), because Edgeworth bursts into the most pissy laughter Phoenix has ever heard.
“Stop it!” he barks, attempting to move away from Phoenix, except he has nowhere to go, trapped between the shelves and Phoenix’s body. “Wright, so help me God—”
He barrels back into Phoenix, but that only hinders his escape, as it gives Phoenix a better grip on his waist. He slides his hands beneath Edgeworth’s blazer and goes to town, a grin splitting his lips.
Edgeworth wheezes, clearly at his capacity for verbal objections. He dissolves into gasping laughs, one after another.
Yep. Absolutely worth the premature death.
Edgeworth doesn’t stop squirming, but despite Phoenix’s severely out-of-shape physique, he still overpowers him. “Come on, Miles,” he chides, now that it’s just the two of them. “When’s the last time you’ve laughed like this? Isn’t it therapeutic?”
He makes a noise that resembles a growl. “I’ll kill you, Wright.”
“Oh, yeah, real threatening.” Edgeworth releases another peal of laughter, which was unfortunately not in response to Phoenix’s teasing. He really wishes that he could see Edgeworth’s face.
... Actually, he could probably manage it.
He grips Edgeworth’s hips and spins him around, gently slamming him against the back of the couch. “Oof,” Edgeworth mutters before realizing that like this, he can pierce Phoenix with a dagger-sharp glare.
The effect is ruined by skewed glasses.
They’re both in a suspended state of gazing at one another, waiting for the next move. “Don’t,” Edgeworth whispers in a warning.
“Or what?”
He doesn’t give him the opportunity to elaborate, because he’s back at it, redoubling his efforts at a relentless pace.
And there they are: unrestrained exhales of laughter, Edgeworth’s lips pulled into a helpless grin. His skin flushes with exertion, disheveled bangs fluttering over his squinting eyes. Abruptly, Phoenix’s hands stop their assault, Edgeworth’s own curled tightly around his wrists.
They stare at each other as Edgeworth catches his breath.
Acting before thinking, like Phoenix is wont to do, he leans in to press a kiss against Edgeworth’s open mouth.
He pulls away to see Edgeworth’s face having deepened in shade, blinking dumbly. He releases one of Phoenix’s wrists to touch his own lips as if needing to reaffirm that, yes, He Really Did That.
“Sorry,” Phoenix murmurs, unable to keep the note of tenderness from seeping into his voice. His gaze flickers from Edgeworth’s eyes to his lips and back again. “That was just… really cute. I wish you could see how you look right now.”
“... I’m sure I look ridiculous.”
He hasn’t shoved Phoenix away: a good sign. Phoenix beams. “It’s pretty different from your usual prim and priss,” he banters gamely. Edgeworth’s brow furrows in offense and Phoenix resists the urge to smooth it out with his own. Instead, he adds more seriously, “I should’ve said something before throwing that at you all of a sudden.”
Edgeworth scoffs. “The tickling, or the kiss?”
“Say ‘tickling’ again.”
“Wright.” Exasperation.
He chuckles, posture straightening and allowing his partner to do the same. He doesn’t, however, remove his hands from his waist. “The kiss. I definitely don’t regret getting you to laugh like that.”
Adjusting his glasses, Edgeworth averts his eyes with a faint flush. “Yes, well… Do something like that again, and you will.”
“Uhuh.”
“Wright!”
“I’m sorry! I just—can’t take you seriously like this.”
Edgeworth’s chest expands with his massive sigh, undoubtedly attempting to calm himself before he loses his damn mind. He moves his hand from his glasses to Phoenix’s cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Breath catching, Phoenix smiles. He knew it. Of course he did—they’ve never needed to say it aloud, because it’s always been a fact as sure as the color of the sky. He can’t deny, though, that hearing it so confidently spoken feels like a solidification he didn’t realize he needed. Miles loves him.
“Yeah,” Phoenix breathes, “I am.”